


Vines Whip and Bones Break But I Do Not, My Love

by ThatOneMawile



Series: Raindrops, Red and Blue [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: ALSO DISHONORED 1 SPOILERS, Clean Hands run, Dishonored 2 Spoilers, Emily needs a hug, F/M, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin, also, also corvo is the worlds worse serial pickpocketer we all know this, and doing so, how did anyones paintings get there, how the hell did campbell's potrait get in that room, in the most unique ways, it makes emily's life so difficult, lil assassin trying to not kill anyone, oh boy a clean hands em story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneMawile/pseuds/ThatOneMawile
Summary: "I hope you’re ready" She isn’t - But with the whole worlds fate resting on her too slim shoulders, she has to be ready. Was this what her father felt, alone with too much riding on his shoulders as he struggled to fight through it. She knows she is lucky, to not suffer through 6 months of Coldridge - how must that destroy the soul, abusing and removing every shard of soul one has.... or a Character Study of a Low Chaos Emily fresh on the shores of Karnaca, just doing her bit for the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to take a month but life and my urge to write other half finished dishonored fics got in the way. Hopefully the next won't take a month? I have a dh1 and a Hypatia/Corvo fic in the works... Hopefully they will make up for my terrible timing. Probably not :P. 
> 
> Also Emily should only be played as low chaos because it fits her better than high chaos... I didn't though.

There is no blood in her wake or vines at her heels in the land that used to be  _ hers _ \- Just an overwhelming sadness and unconscious bodies sprawled as she sprinted through the cobbled streets. It’s while she runs, sprints harder and faster than she has ever had to (But her father taught her to, deep rough words scraping against damaged skin because of  _ Coldridge _ . She may have forgiven Daud but the others?  _ Never. _ ) that she finds the abandoned room frozen since her mother's time and the  _ hope _ of the people - all of it drowned in the blood of an Empress, the hope growing murky then it's gone with a slow, excruciating promise of death. 

 

Guards swarm like rats below as she sprints, always above them all, on the broken titles and pipes of the city she calls home, the same roofs she sprinted on once for  _ fun  _ (The nobles disagreed - but never once did her father. Did he  _ know? _ ). There is only one way out though (or so she tells herself - there is always a choice, but she won't pick the same fate as  _ him _ ) which is how she finds herself on the rusted pipe, overlooking the river. Then suddenly she's falling, falling,  _ falling _ and it all goes black.

 

\---

  
  


The water is as murky as ever, cool and slimy and something else, the threat of hagfish whispering in her ears. She herself had never seen one, not at least in her sheltered upbringing in a tower with only a too-busy mother who tried her hardest but had an empire to run and an almost-father who was always there for her with a play sword, secretly teaching her in games that she now realized were just training for the future. Hagfish had even less of an impact on her life after - Her father had been very clear in educating why she should avoid Dunwall waterways, the milky tissue of the scars he had from them on his arms and legs were a clear warning, made even worse against too tan skin marking him as an outsider in a world where pale was the norm - here  _ Emily _ is the outsider donning  fine silk and porcelain.

 

A fine silk and porcelain shadow at home in the rafters. Armed to the teeth and skilled, more skilled than they could anticipate. No one looks twice at her build or the shadows clinging and  _ breathing _ alongside her as they slip between sailors with dead eyes, eyes who saw the leviathan  in all its true power to the simple workers who know they will be joining the deeps soon as nothing but a lost soul. 

 

Civilians, the normal who don’t comprehend the power who just brushed the simple leather pouches off their simple leather belts ignore her.

 

Guards aren’t as easy to fool. And Overseers  _ know.  _

 

\--- 

 

She’s cornered - 1 too many Overseers to fight them all without anyone dying, and her sword has never tasted blood before, not in her hands. Not for many, many years - not since she learnt to defend herself. But she swore on her mother's grave to never take an innocent life, and the Overseers are nothing but innocent. Innocent who follow a leader they have never seen, hiding behind golden masks of fear and rules that she herself had to swear by, while a witch watched over her in the shadows. 

 

There is only one way she’s going to get out of this…  _ unless _ … 

 

An Assassin's sword hits the ground, and so do their jaws. Seconds later she joins them, spinning and dropping towards the soul biting concrete. However in the split-second she drops agile fingers find metal around her waist where her father always taught her to keep them and they  _ pull _ , sparks flying that leaves her singed and everyone around her on the ground with her sword - still clean, like her hands.

 

Sword scooped up and ready, the sparrow’s feet fly towards the nearest perch. It didn’t just expect to find anything it recognized inside.  _ Campbell’s  _ portrait is there - how is seemingly beyond her. The Masked Felon snaffled it 15 years prior and it disappeared from sight, and Emily’s  _ tried _ stopping her father’s bad habits and to find his stash but she's never quite been able to, at the mercy of bulletproof features and a man who lives up to him namesake a little  _ too _ well. It’s fitting though that it's in the hands of a witch - having fallen to one himself, then the throne he lusted over for too long now in the hands of a different witch, less of a Marked and more of  _ another _ . At least it's easy for her to reach further than humanly possible and  _ grab _ , yanking herself towards the black market shop with an easy only witnessed by the dead. 

 

The dead watching her from within her heart - the dead watching with two black eyes of ink and bone.

 

What would Mother think of her now?

 

\---

 

Mindy is… odd. Reminds her of a tale she heard as a child on cold nights when she wanted to know where her mother was and didn't want to lose her father. A tale of a gang leader, helping for a price and in return being saved from a rabid witch. She doesn't hope to have to save Mindy from a witch, but isn't that what she's doing? She has to save everyone, everyone she swore her life to in the very act of being born to her mother, the first breath she took?

 

The life of an empress isn't all it's shaped up to be - but didn't she know that from the moment her mother's white blouse ran red and her father’s  _ silent _ screams - It had always been odd, her father's nonexistent voice that people saw as a sign of him being weak and  _ noncomunitive  _ \- It was the opposite, actually. Hands that glided into signs, no sign of the abuse they'd suffered in his life (No sign of the broken bones scraping against chains or the fleeting glances towards freedom - it was the  _ magic _ , she knew now. The magic healed him.)

 

It had been the first language she had learnt, to speak in hands instead of tongue. Improper for an Empress and the advisers knew so. Whispers followed her as her hands moved to speak to her father (But he was never her father then, just the only person deserved of that title), and matching signs in response. Advisers were shushed by a firm warning from the kindest of Empresses, or a silencing glare from the shadow of the night. It would never been known how proficient their Empress was at signing, the  _ Serkonian Sign  _ as well, by the population, being taught to keep it to her chambers. They didn’t know about how she was more at home with her hands and actions speaking over her mouth, as it was ‘Improper’ - instead, she had to learn the  _ only  _ way to speak, Gristolian with a perfect accent and so, so formal.

 

\--

 

_ I hope you’re ready  _ She isn’t - But with the whole worlds fate resting on her too slim shoulders, she  _ has _ to be ready. Was this what her father felt, alone with too much riding on his shoulders as he struggled to fight through it. She knows she is lucky, to not suffer through 6 months of Coldridge - how must that destroy the soul, abusing and removing every shard of soul one has. 

 

It was the first thing she changed when coming into power, the rules surrounding the interrogation and torture of criminals. No one would suffer like her father, no matter what the crime. It was all too easy for a sharp tongued noble to overthrow her, void does she know it.The Kaldwins were fair rulers, never assigning a death punishment like those who ruled before them. She would never disrespect  _ either _ of her names, the name her mother passed on that the people saw and understood, always behind a title, blue and gold woven in all the flags. It was also the one Deliliah  _ stole _ \- the one she’s torn apart, added the blood of those loyal to her too and turned the blue Kaldwins were proud of  _ purple _ , along with the one lost and dead alongside her father set in stone for all to see and the shores she stands on, proud as ever with rich rolling waves pounding her with  _ history _ .

 

She hopes he is proud of her, and that she isn’t disrespecting the most important thing he could've given her. But she  _ has _ to fight Deliliah for her mother's gift.

 

The Masked Felon would understand.

 

Corvo Attano may not.

 

_ It’s for all of us, Father. Delilah can not win. No matter what happens… I will not let her get away with this, with disrespecting everything you and mother worked for. It won’t be pretty. I want to slay my blade as you did. But if not, and if I fail leaving you alone for the last time… I am sorry, Father. _

  
_ I won’t falter, not with everything on the line. You taught me everything you knew about surviving. You protected me the best you could. Now it’s my turn. _

**Author's Note:**

> What did you guys think? FYI I live for any sort of reply, from kudos to comments :)
> 
> I also have [tumblr](https://that-one-mawile.tumblr.com) apparently... There is a bunch of Dishonored and Youtuber stuff over there.


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